


Summer lovin'

by madonna_and_whore



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Past Character Death, Reconciliation, Summer, Temporary Break Up, the beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 23:42:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7409824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madonna_and_whore/pseuds/madonna_and_whore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke's hiding something from Bellamy, he only wishes he knew what it is</p>
<p>Well you know what they say about being careful what you wish for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer lovin'

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was actually part of a longer work, but by the time I'd written the entire piece, I hated it so much and this was the only chapter I could stand, so this is the only chapter that I'm going to post!
> 
> I tried to make sure that it could be read as a standalone instead of part of a wider series.
> 
> Well, I hope y'all like it and I'll see you at the end!

Bellamy wakes, feeling more content than he has in a long time. He sighs happily and looks out of the window, noticing that the sun has only risen in the last hour or so. Rolling over to check the time, Bellamy’s view is impeded by another person’s back. A very warm, soft and sweet smelling person, he can’t help the slow smile which graces his features as he looks down at Clarke’s sleeping form.

  
“Bellamy?” she asks, voice soft from sleep, clearly Bellamy had woken her when he rolled over.

  
“Shhhh, go back to sleep Clarke.” He whispers, resting his forehead on her back.

  
“What time is it?” she asks, voice slightly clearer.

  
“Doesn’t matter,” Bellamy groans and flips Clarke over so that she’s facing him.

  
He looks deeply into her eyes for several seconds, while she blushes and wraps her slender arms around his body.

  
“What color are your eyes?” Bellamy finally asks, after trying to determine whether they were blue or green or grey.

  
“My mother always said grey,” she says, pausing thoughtfully for a second before continuing, “My driver’s licence says blue.”

  
“They’re greener though, like the color of the ocean.”

  
Clarke giggles softly and nudges his arms round her.

  
“You’re quite the poet Blake.” Bellamy huffs out a laugh and, snuggling closer to her says,

  
“Go back to sleep, princess.”

  
She giggles again and silence falls, save for their deep breathing, the whirring of the fan and the early morning bird song.

* * *

They wake again several hours later, when the sun is already high in the sky and the heat is oppressive.

  
“I’m going to shower, care to join me?” Clarke asks Bellamy from the doorway of this bedroom, half attempting a seductive pose in his long shirt which ends at the top of her thighs.

  
Bellamy’s stomach groans, and she laughs at his blush.

  
“Guess that answers that question. You can make us some breakfast.” She says and saunters toward the bathroom, looking back only to check that Bellamy is watching her walk away.

  
Before the heat becomes too oppressive in his tiny beach house, Bellamy throws open all the windows and props open the door, hoping to tempt a gust of cool beach wind into his house.

  
He turns on his gas cooker and finds a pan in which he’s going to cook bacon and eggs. Cracking open the eggs and hearing them sizzle as they cook relaxes him. It takes him back to his youth, when he and Octavia would cook for their mother as she came in off a long shift.

  
A floorboard behind him creaks, and Bellamy spins around, only to see Clarke, standing in a towel and watching him with an amused smile on her face.

  
“You’re secretly domestic, aren’t you?”

  
Bellamy blushes and looks behind her at the steam emerging from the bathroom; he can smell her sweet shampoo and immediately thinks of the pink bottles in his bathroom, of her toothbrush next to his.

  
Clarke giggles and heads back to his room, emerging fully dressed and with her wet hair in a bun, just as Bellamy finishes cooking their breakfast.

  
“Thank you.” She says, wrapping her arms around his waist, standing on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek briefly.

  
“My pleasure.” Bellamy replies softly, he places their plates on the table and leans down to kiss Clarke deeply.

  
Someone clears their throat from the doorway of Bellamy’s house, and the couple spring apart, both blushing deeply.

  
“Who’s this?” a female voice drawls from the entrance.

  
Clarke gives the girl a suspicious look and then looks up at Bellamy.

  
“O!” Bellamy calls delightedly; he runs to her, picks her up and spins her around.

  
“Bell, put me down, I’m trying to meet your guest.”

  
Bellamy drops her and offers both her and Clarke a slightly embarrassed smile.

  
“O, this is Clarke, Clarke, this is my sister Octavia.”

  
He hears Clarke sigh in relief and Octavia laughs a little bit at him.

  
“Did you forget to tell her that I was coming, or was this more of an unplanned rendezvous?” she waggles her eyebrows at Bellamy, who blushes at the implication.

  
“No, we just lost track of time, do you want to join us for breakfast?” he motions to the food waiting for them on the table.

  
“Nah, I think I’m alright, I was planning on stopping by the diner after I dropped in on you,” She turns to leave, before turning back to them, “Nice to meet you Clarke, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of opportunities to get to know each other!” With that, Octavia departs, the door slams behind her and causes a cool breeze to wash over both Bellamy and Clarke.

  
“So that’s my little sister.” Bellamy says after a few seconds of silence.

  
“She seems nice.” Clarke comments, smoothing her hair down and sitting at his small table.

  
“She can be a bit of a handful, but she’s all I’ve got.” Bellamy remarks, crossing over to the table and taking a seat opposite her.

  
Clarke doesn’t say anything, but she smiles at him and takes his hand in her own softer one. Their fingers remain laced together as they eat in peaceful silence.

* * *

Days turn in weeks before Bellamy realises that summer is nearly over and he’ll have to return to college soon. It’s his final year of education, with any luck, but he realises that he’s never discussed with Clarke what her normal life is like or what plans she might have for the fall.

  
He broaches the subject one day over ice cream on the beach. It’s almost 8pm, but the sun hasn’t even started to set and with Clarke’s head resting on his shoulder, Bellamy doesn’t want to tempt fate, but he knows that he should.

  
“Clarke,” he starts, and feels the loss of her warmth on his shoulder instantly.

  
“Oh dear,” she says smiling at him, “That’s your serious voice.”

  
“I wasn’t aware that I had a serious voice.” Bellamy says, looking down at her, a crease forming on his brow.

  
“Don’t look so worried, it’s not a bad thing. What were you going to say?”

  
“I was just wondering what your plans are for the fall?” he asks, nervously lacing their fingers together.

  
“Plans?” Clarke repeats, her tone confused, “For the fall?”

  
“Yeah.”

  
“I don’t have any; I assumed that we’d just keep doing this?” Her tone is taking a slightly accusatory tone.

  
“As much as I’d love that Princess, I do go to college.” He smiles at her, but she doesn’t return it. Clarke’s brow is furrowed and she does not look impressed.

  
“And when were you going to mention this to me?” she asks, her voice is raised.

  
“I’m mentioning it now!” Bellamy shouts back, not fully comprehending why she’s mad at him.

  
“Why would you just spring this on me? You’ve never mentioned it before!”

  
People are starting to stare at them; both of their ice creams have been dropped to the ground and are melting on the hot sidewalk.

  
“What did you think I do all day? Work at the diner and go down to the beach? This is just a summer job! This is just what I do in the summer!”

  
“That makes it sound a lot like this relationship is ‘just what you do in the summer’.” Clarke replies, her tone icy. She stands and walks away without looking back at him.

  
Bellamy stares after her in disbelief.

* * *

That night Bellamy lies alone in bed, staring at the ceiling. The rest of his day was a disaster, Octavia was convinced that he had aggravated Clarke and so she wasn’t on his side.

  
Lying alone in bed, he listens to the cicadas outside his window and feels the soft breeze coming from the aircon above his bed.

  
A creaking sound from his house suddenly drags him back to the present, he lies there, tense and ready to fight off any intruder.

  
The door to his bedroom clicks open softly; Bellamy feels another weight on his mattress and smells Clarke’s sweet scent.

  
She wraps her arms around him and whispers in his ear, “I’m sorry about earlier.”

  
Bellamy doesn’t move, he doesn’t make any noise, save for his steady breathing.

  
“I don’t have a plan for the fall, or even for the rest of my life. I’m sorry I snapped at you, I was just scared and I didn’t want to confront my future.”

  
Clarke rests her forehead against his back, and Bellamy feels his anger at her ebb away, until he sits up and pulls her close to him, burying his noise in her hair.

* * *

“I’m going on my break now, see you in a bit.” Clarke says and stands on her tiptoes to kiss Bellamy’s cheek. He feels his entire face heat up and he can’t stop the half smile which plays on his lips. It’s the final weeks of summer vacation and Bellamy is still vibrating with happiness, unwilling to exchange his peaceful summer life for the stress of college.

  
Bellamy is still smiling as he wipes down the counter, humming a tune he’d heard Clarke singing earlier in the shower.

  
He is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the three black SUVs pull up in the parking lot or the men in suits and sunglasses get out.

  
The chiming sound of the door is what makes him look up, a group of suited men are standing around looking menacing and from their midst a boy emerges. He is barely older than Clarke and Bellamy wonders why he has all the protection.

  
“Hello,” He says with a polite smile, “Would you happen to know if Clarke is working today?”

  
“Clarke?” Bellamy asks in shock, wondering what this boy could want with Clarke.

  
“Yes, Clarke, you know, small, blonde, quite energetic.” The boy gets a fond smile on his face and Bellamy feels his stomach knot in dread.

  
“I know her, she’s on her break right now.” He replies icily.

  
“Excellent, I’ll wait,” the boy waves his hand at the men in suits and says, “We’ll be here for a while, make yourselves comfortable.” And he jumps up onto a bar stool and rests his elbows on the counter.

  
Bellamy wants to shake him and demand answers to why he wants to see Clarke or how he even knows her; but he knows that the boy’s security detail would be on him within seconds, so he makes do with using the coffee machine more violently than usual.

  
The syrupy seconds seem to trickle by and no one says anything, the diner is deathly silent, save for the occasional clinking of mugs and cutlery. A crack of thunder makes them all jump and it starts to rain.

  
Finally, the sound of the door opening makes everyone in the diner turn and stare at Clarke as she emerges from the dark staff room.

  
“What?” she says, laughing nervously and tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

  
Bellamy says nothing, just studies her face and he sees the moment when her eyes zero in on the boy sitting at the counter.

  
The boy has stood up but is frozen in place, Clarke’s face is slowly draining of all color and she’s clutching the counter as though it is the only thing holding her up.

  
“Clarke.” The boy says, stepping forward. Clarke backs away from him quickly until her back hits the wall.

  
“No.” she croaks.

  
“Clarke please,” the boy intones, softer this time. Bellamy is preparing himself to jump over the counter and restrain the boy, security guards be dammed when Clarke does something unexpected. She makes a small sobbing sound in the back of her throat and flings herself at the boy, hugging him tightly.

  
Bellamy is floored and the knotted sensation in him stomach is back.

  
Once she’s released the boy, she leads him to the counter and sits down with him, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

  
“It’s good to see you.” Clarke whispers softly, grasping his hands in hers.

  
“And you.” He smiles at her and Bellamy can feel his temper rising.

  
“Clarke, who is this?” he asks through gritted teeth.

  
“Oh Bellamy,” she says, smiling at him and wiping her eyes with her wrist, “This is Wells, he’s my best friend.”

  
Wells holds out his hand, and smiles at Bellamy too.

  
“I’m sorry; it was quite rude of me not to introduce myself earlier. Wells Jaha, pleasure to meet you.”

  
It takes a second for the name to sink in, but when it does Bellamy makes a low sound in his throat.

  
“Jaha? As in President Jaha?”

  
“The very same.” Wells is still smiling at him, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that Bellamy is seconds away from punching him in the face. He then turns back to Clarke as though Bellamy is not there.

  
“Clarke, it’s time for you to come home.” He says softly.

  
Clarke glances at Bellamy quickly and then shakes her head, curls masking her face for a second.

  
“I’m not coming home Wells.” She says shortly, Wells sighs in disbelief.

  
“Clarke look, we all get it, you went through a lot and needed a break, but the summer’s ending and you're supposed to go to back to Dartmouth in the fall.”

  
“I’m not going back,” Clarke says, softly, taking Wells’ hands in her own again, “I don’t want to go back and this wasn’t just a summer thing, this is who I am now.”

  
“Clarke,” Bellamy growls, finding his voice again, “Why are you friends with the President’s son?”

  
“Don’t you know who this is?” Wells says, laughter in his voice.

  
“Wells, please.” Clarke implores him, her hand clutching at his sleeve.

  
“No Clarke, I think I want to hear this.” Bellamy says, his eyes dark.

  
“This is Clarke Griffin, the Griffin heiress, daughter of Abigail Griffin, the President’s Chief Physician.”

  
Bellamy stares from Wells to Clarke, and then back again.

  
“Bellamy-“ Clarke starts, but he holds up a hand, silencing her.

  
Then he turns and unties his apron and folds it neatly on the counter. Striding into his boss’ office, he simply says, “I quit.” And then walks out. Bellamy can hear shouting behind him, Clarke’s voice mixing with his boss’ yells.

  
Once he’s outside, the cacophony of rain drowns out any shouts, but he barely gets ten steps away from the diner before he can hear Clarke again.

  
“Bell please!” Clarke is running after him, but Bellamy can’t look at her, “Bellamy please wait!”

  
Bellamy stops underneath the weeping willow tree; the rain is making the leaves drip and streaking both his and Clarke’s faces with water. The irony is not lost on Bellamy as he turns to face Clarke’s wet face.

  
“Bellamy, let me explain.” Clarke says, ocean eyes gazing up at him imploringly.

  
“Explain what?” Bellamy says, embarrassed to find that his voice comes out rougher than he’d hoped, “Explain how you lied to me for months? How you used me for what? A little rich girl experiment? No thanks Clarke, I’m done.”

  
Bellamy turns from her again, but not before he hears her sobs.

  
“Bellamy, no, it wasn’t like that.”

  
“I don’t care what it was like. I don’t care about the very deep and meaningful reason I’m sure you had for deceiving us all, lying to me for months. I mean was any of it true?” he rounds back on her, looming over her tiny figure, just as he had on their first day.

  
“Of course it was!” she says, her voice strong, despite the tears, “Bellamy, please, I lo-“

  
“Don’t.” Bellamy says, and then he turns and walks away from her sobbing figure, wanting nothing more to bury himself in his house and never speak to anyone again. If anyone sees him on the way home, they might have assumed the water on his cheeks was just the rain, but Bellamy knows better.

* * *

Bellamy hears the crunch of someone stepping on shards of broken china on his floor, before he fully registers that someone is in his house.

  
He’d retreated to his bedroom after smashing a plate or two. He’d stripped his bed of everything and thrown it onto the sofa. Everything in his room, his house reminds him of her. All his bedding smells sweet, just like her, he can see the plant she’d bought him as a gift sitting on his window sill, red flowers vibrant against the blue sky. A half-drunk glass of water with pink lipstick on is by her side of the bed and a small pile of her clothes are evidence of their life together.

  
Bellamy puts his head in his hands as the door to his room is pushed open with a creak.

  
“Go away Clarke.” He says, trying, and failing for a hint of his previous anger.

  
“It’s not Clarke.”

  
He looks up to see Octavia, hovering in the doorway, biting her lip and looking at him with concerned eyes.

  
Putting his head back in his hands, Bellamy sighs sadly. The sound prompts Octavia into action.

  
She rushes over to him and wraps her arms around him.

  
“Oh Bell,” she says into his neck, “What went wrong?”

  
“She lied to me, about everything.” Bellamy manages to choke out, a lump in his throat preventing him from saying anything else.

  
Silence descends on the room once more, with only the waves and the seagulls providing background noise for Bellamy’s grief.

* * *

“But are you sure she was lying?” Octavia asks him again, more insistent this time.

  
It’s been a week since he last saw her, but Bellamy can still see Clarke’s anguished face every time he blinks.

  
“I’m sure.” He replies to Octavia, without taking his eyes off of the pancakes they’re going to have for breakfast.

  
“Maybe you should just hear her out?” she suggests to him gently.

  
Both of their eyes shift to Bellamy’s phone, lying prone and silent on the wooden counter top. For the past week, it’s been lighting up twice a day with messages from Clarke, begging him to listen to her.

  
“No.” Bellamy says shortly.

* * *

 “Bellamy, could you step in here for a minute?” Lincoln calls out to him from inside the diner’s tiny kitchen.

  
“Fine.” Bellamy yells back and puts down the cloth he was using to clean the counter.

  
He walks to the kitchen, the humidity is high and it makes the air feel muggy and everyone irritable. The weather is always the same at the end of August; Bellamy hopes that there will be a storm soon to wash away all the heat and any lingering memories of the summer.

  
“What is it Lincoln?” He asks once he’s reached the kitchen, looking over at Lincoln who is stirring sauce with a small smile on his face.

  
Bellamy hopes very much that his smile has nothing to do with the fact that Octavia didn’t come home last night.

  
“Can you grab a block of cheese from the fridge for me please? I would get it myself, but I can’t leave the sauce alone.”

  
Bellamy sighs, but he goes to the walk in fridge all the same, opening the latch and letting himself in. The door swings shut behind him, a lock clicking into place.

  
“What the-?” Bellamy says, turning to check it out. It’s only then that he notices Octavia in the corner of the kitchen, grinning devilishly at him.

  
“Let me out O!” he calls out to her.

  
“Not until you two have sorted this out!” she calls back.

  
Bellamy hears a shuffling sound and whips around, only to see Clarke emerging from the shadows, arms wrapped around herself and eyes puffy.

  
“Hi.” She says softly.

  
Bellamy glares at her.

  
“I’m sorry about all this, but I didn’t know how else I could see you and explain myself.” Clarke says, her eyes darting from Bellamy’s face to the door to the floor.

  
“Did it occur to you that maybe I didn’t want to hear what you have to say?” Bellamy snarls at her, feeling his broken heart speed up suddenly from her proximity.

  
“Yes, but I couldn’t just leave it like this,” Clarke snaps back, before taking a deep breath to seemingly calm herself, “I’m heading back to New York today, so this might be the last chance I get.”

  
Bellamy’s heart twists unpleasantly and without meaning to he feels sad. As soon as the feeling appears, he quashes it though.

  
“You should probably sit down, it’s a long story.” Clarke motions towards one of the upturned crates and Bellamy sits on it facing her.

  
Clarke takes a deep breath and starts to tell him everything. The fact that she’d been happy, about to go to Dartmouth to study pre-med, when her father had suddenly passed away, how she’d carried on at the school because her best friend Wells convinced her it was what her father would want, until her girlfriend Lexa was killed. After that, nothing could keep her in college, so she’d dropped out and gone back to stay with her mother in Washington DC for a while. Clarke’s mother had been unsupportive of her decision to say the least, so Clarke had fled to the small seaside town in Rhode Island that they were in today.

  
“I just, couldn’t face going back to that life, to who I was, so I lied and didn’t tell you who I am. Bellamy, I am so, so sorry for that.” She finishes her story with tears dripping down her cheeks, looking at Bellamy as though he is her salvation, her redemption.

  
Without thinking, Bellamy leans forward and brushes one of the tears from Clarke’s flushed cheek. He hears her breath catch in her throat and sees hope growing in her eyes.

  
“Bell?” she asks him, softly, beseechingly.

  
“I get it.” He replies, words coming out rougher than he would have liked.

  
He places his other warm hand on her cheek and kisses her softly.

  
Clarke sighs happily and leans into the kiss.

  
Before it can get any deeper, Bellamy pulls away and looks deep into her ocean eyes,

  
“I love you too, Clarke Griffin.”

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think?  
> Did you like it?
> 
> I mean we all know that I'm trash for Clarke Griffin now
> 
> If you wanna talk more to me about it or just say hi, come visit my tumblr. My URL is if-it-takes-a-war-for-us-to-meet (Extra kudos to you if you get the reference!)
> 
> See you next time!


End file.
